


Lucky Rabbit's Paw

by WolfieOnAO3



Series: Before The Ides Of March [3]
Category: Raffles (TV 1977), Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Cricket, Family, Friendship, Gen, School, school days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29125845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfieOnAO3/pseuds/WolfieOnAO3
Summary: I had not asked Raffles whether his people would be coming up to watch the Founder's Day Cricket Match, for although we had become much tighter pals since the start of that final summer term, he was always aloof as regarded his personal life — and I was, after all, his fag first and foremost. I never wanted to push him too far or overstep too many marks, lest I do something to harm the burgeoning true friendship between us which I so cherished. Nevertheless, even if I wouldn’t voice my curiosity over Raffles’ people, I did little to leash my fanciful imaginings about them, nor squash my hopes that I might, perhaps, maybe, get to meet them on Founder’s Day. For if they did come, I had no doubt in my mind that Raffles would introduce me to them...When their school's Founder's Day Cricket Match rolls around, Bunny harbours hopes of finally catching a glimpse of Raffles' family.Part 3 ofBefore The Ides Of March
Relationships: Bunny Manders & A. J. Raffles
Series: Before The Ides Of March [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136807
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Lucky Rabbit's Paw

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as "Rip" in _Crime, Cricket, and Inktober_.
> 
> This is Part 3 of _Before The Ides Of March_ \- this series is best read in order!

At the school which Raffles and I had both attended, Founder’s Day fell toward the latter end of the summer term. At our school, as so many others, this day was commemorated with an Old Boys cricket match, pitting former pupils — some of whom had gone on to be first class cricketers themselves — against present. I was, of course, practically hopping with excitement at the prospect of watching Raffles lead the school’s Eleven against the Old Boys, and had no doubt whatsoever that he would trounce all comers. I was further filled with a sense of vicarious pride in knowing that he would do so not only before all the school, all the teachers, and the Old Boys themselves, but also before the townsfolk who were permitted to come up and watch the match, _and_ before any and all of the boys’ people who had taken up the general invitation for families and friends to come down and watch. That Raffles would put on his best show I was certain, and it thrilled me to think of how many people would get to see him at it. He deserved as much fame, glory, and adulation as he could get; as far as I was concerned there hadn’t been a person more deserving in the past century at least!

If I had felt at all sorry that my own people — few as they were even then — were not coming up, that regret was far from strong enough to dampen my spirits. I hadn’t expected them to come, and had only sent the invitation so as not to stick out from the other boys by not doing so. I expected them to decline the invite, and I understood why they did. It was a long enough journey from my home to the school, and of course I was no cricketer, and a mere middle fourth lad finishing my first year to boot; and my parents, though kind in their own ways, and by no means physically neglectful, were simply never that fond of me. My family had not and would never set foot in the school during my time there. They had taken and left me there that first, dismal day when I was thirteen years old and despairing, fussing over me amidst displays of interest and care more showy than sincere. I would leave the school entirely alone years later without them ever having come to visit me once. I was, I think, something of a perpetual disappointment.

I had not asked Raffles whether his people would be coming up to watch, for although we had become much tighter pals since the start of that final summer term, he was always aloof as regarded his personal life — and I was, after all, his fag first and foremost. I never wanted to push him _too_ far or overstep too many marks, lest I do something to harm the burgeoning true friendship between us which I so cherished. Nevertheless, even if I wouldn’t voice my curiosity over Raffles’ people, I did little to leash my fanciful imaginings about them, nor squash my hopes that I might, perhaps, maybe, get to meet them on Founder’s Day. For if they did come, I had no doubt in my mind that Raffles would introduce me to them. 

Still, I don’t want to give off the impression that Raffles and I were quite so thick as thieves back then as we would later become. He was still above all else _Arthur Raffles_ of the Upper Sixth, just turned eighteen; Raffles, the popular, clever, artistic, and dashing Captain of the First XI in the summer and of the Second XV in the winter (Raffles’ rugby never was quite so strong as his cricket, and he characteristically preferred to lead the Second rather than be led in the First). And of course I was, always and only, the unathletic, unpromising, unremarkable little Harry Manders, at that time fourteen-and-one-third, in the Middle Fourth, and known for little more than my nickname, my unexpectedly vicious pugnacity when backed into a corner (several boys had learned the hard way that simply because a boy is small and quiet, that _does not_ mean he can’t bloody noses), and for my paltry poetical contributions to the mag’. Less even than that, in fact, for outside of my own peer group few knew me as anything more than “ _that baby-faced little fag that trails around carrying Raffles’ bags_ ”. 

I was on as low a rung as Raffles was high, and he, and his peers and cronies with whom the majority of his time was spent, were so far above me as to render me all but invisible to most of them. This would have caused me no small measure of torment, infatuated with Raffles as I was — in friendship or otherwise; the precise nature of my love for him mattered far less to me than the intensity of it — had I not been the only soul in all the school, perhaps even in all the world, to whom he had entrusted certain of his secrets. And thus, whilst the other boys, the older boys, the brighter boys, the sportier boys, the boys with money and popularity and charisma and class, all enjoyed more of Raffles time and physical presence than I could ever hope for, I flattered myself — if only in secret; if only with wishful thinking; if only to myself; — that I knew more of his _heart._

What I did not know much of, however, were his people, and that was something I dearly wished to change. I couldn’t decide, in my childish daydreaming, which of the familial scenarios that I had pieced together in my head was more likely to be true. I had several, and every time I thought about them, they grew ever more elaborate.

I could see his father as an elegant, dashing gentleman, a hero straight out of Austen; handsome and with the same black hair as Raffles, perhaps streaked with silver; brilliantly educated, refined, wise and kind, if a little intimidating and austere at first meeting. Perhaps he was a politician in the Houses of Parliament — no, the House of _Lords,_ for Raffles could easily be of the best blood in the country without anybody knowing; he would never be so gauche as to bring it up. And his father would be so clever that he was probably an advisor to the Prime Minister himself — no, to the Queen _her_ self! And I could imagine his mother, beautiful, of course, but intelligent too, the spiritual successor to Cleopatra, minus all the bad bits. Or maybe his mother _was_ royalty, the younger daughter of some obscure European monarch! I envisioned her resplendent in diamonds and pearls and the finest and most fashionable dresses money could buy, tailor made in Paris and fit for a princess — for couldn’t Raffles quite easily be royalty? Didn’t he carry himself with such grace, and confidence, and sanguinity as would befit any prince? 

But then on another day I could just as easily imagine him coming from a family of bonafide rogues — of the good-hearted, romantic type, of course. His father would be pirate captain or a highwayman, descended from Dick Turpin himself, or Blackbeard; wicked, and witty, and as charming as anything, the type of man who could steal your jewels and leave you thankful for it, because he was just so _captivating_ as he did it, and anyway, what an adventure to tell to your friends! I could see his mother, too, a gypsy fortune-teller, or a lady lion-tamer, or maybe even an _Amazonian_ like Hippolyta, strong, and brave, and wild, and independent, racing across fields on her big black horse, laughing as the wind whipped at her golden hair. 

I could imagine his childhood, his earliest years filled with adventure and freedom and love — perhaps that was why he so often felt the need to escape at night, I thought. Perhaps Raffles was like some wonderful bird, caged in this horrible, strict, loveless school which tried and failed to clip his wings; but _I_ held the key to help him escape, to spread his wings and soar back to his pirate captain father in the House of Lords and his Amazonian princess mother, both of whom loved and missed him so much, and were so endlessly _proud_ of the man their brilliant son was growing up to be!

These were, of course, my more _fanciful_ contemplations on Raffles’ family. When I was feeling less romantic, I imagined far more realistic scenarios. His father might be the younger son of an old family; he might be a lawyer, or a doctor, or following some other well paid, educated, respectable career; a ‘Varsity man, undoubtedly. He probably played cricket on weekends in the summer and, had he not instead thrown himself wholeheartedly into his profession, could easily have been one of the best Amateurs in the country. He was probably the one who taught young Raffles to play, taking him out on sunny afternoons and teaching him to bowl and to bat, just like I’d always wished my father would have. And as for his mother, she would be soft but strong, like Raffles was; she would wear dresses that were simple but elegant, and which always suited her complexion perfectly, and she would pay proper attention to all of those little details which so elevated women’s fashion over men’s. She would play piano, or maybe paint like Raffles did, and she would have a little pet cat, and read philosophy for fun, and she would give the _best_ hugs.

Such were the musings of my love-starved fourteen year old self. Not that my own family were particularly cruel or unkind; they never mistreated me, or gave me any real cause for complaint; they were merely disappointed in me. Nonetheless, when I pondered upon the family of the boy who was to me in every way perfect, I had to believe that they too must be, like him, everything that I so dearly wanted in a family; people who were warm, caring, clever, and accepting. The more I thought of them, the more convinced I became that they would show up to watch their beloved son play the best cricket of his young life, and that soon I should meet them, too, and have my curiosity finally sated. And perhaps, I hoped, they might _like_ _me._

It was the evening before Founder’s Day, and I was sitting on the floor of Raffles study, getting his kit in order ready for the next morning. My anticipatory excitement had me fizzing. The possibility of meeting Raffles’ parents aside, I was greatly looking forward to watching him play against the Old Boys, for I too, like his parents undoubtedly were, was fiercely proud of my wonderful friend and his cricketing talent. Unfortunately this excitement and pride left me a babbling, enthusiastic nuisance. I knew Raffles preferred not to talk too much before matches, and he especially did not like to talk _about them_. Usually I was reasonably good at keeping quiet and acquiescing to his wishes, but that evening silent stoicism was an impossibility. I’d have been no more able to sprout wings and fly out of the window as to not chatter away like some deranged parrot.

‘Isn’t it good that the weather has held out? It was so horribly rainy last week, I was so worried that it would all be called off. That’s the problem with a Founder’s Day match, you can’t really reschedule. Well, I suppose you could, but it would rather take the shine off it, don’t you think? How did it go last year? Dodo says the school lost to the Old Boys, but you weren’t Captain then, so little wonder. Is it true that T. E. Carter is down, and is going to play tomorrow? He plays with the M.C.C., now — I saw him on a matchbox!’

‘Mm,’ Raffles replied, or didn’t really reply, leaning back in his desk chair with his eyes shut, the light from the setting sun spilling in through the study window and sending a golden sheen over his black curls. 

‘And that chap Sprawson,’ I carried on, ‘Dodo said that he was here last year and was on the Eleven with you, is that right? He’s up at Cambridge now, in the First XI already, and only at the end of his first year — but I’m sure you’re much better than him. Than both of them! You’re a better cricketer than the lot of them put together, Raffles, I’m sure of it!’

That drew a smirk from Raffles lips, and his attempts to ignore me faltered as he opened one blue eye and glanced at me sidelong. 

‘Is that hero-worship I hear, Manders? Tsk, you should know better than that. You of all people should know I have plenty of shortcomings.’

‘No,’ I said, frowning and feeling my cheeks grow warm. ‘It’s not _hero worship_ . Don’t be so vain. It’s just _fact,_ Raffles, and even you can’t argue with _fact_ . You know how fastidious Dodo is with the sports records — he’s going to be assistant sports editor for the mag next year, even though he’ll only be fifteen — and _he_ says you’re the best cricketer the school has ever had; that’s _maths_ , Raffles. It’s not _hero-worship_ to be _accurate_.’

‘It’s a fact that I am “ _better than the lot of them put together_ ”, is it?’ Raffles laughed, before giving my sulking shoulders a playful shove. ‘Oh, don’t look so put out, Bunny, I’m just teasing. I appreciate the support, old boy.’

‘Really? Or is that teasing, too?’

‘Really, truly,’ he grinned. ‘Makes all the difference to know you’ve got someone cheering you on from the stands.’

‘A bit more than just the one, Raffles!’ I cried, by now simply sitting tailor-fashion on his rug, his various bits of kit still strewn around me, half packed, half polished, all in disarray and long since abandoned. ‘Everyone will be cheering for you!’

‘Everyone will be cheering for the _school_ , Bunny, not for _me_ ,’ Raffles corrected. ‘And rightly so! This is about _honour_ ! About _pride_! It’s about us young bloods, we the new generation showing we’ve got what it takes to sock it to the old!’ 

As he spoke there was a mischievous glitter in his bright eyes, and it heartened me to see it. In the weeks that had followed his disastrous break with Kit Hopkins, Raffles’ spirit had seemed so dampened and dimmed, he was almost like a different person. Not that anyone else had noticed it, of course; he’d carried on the public front as dazzlingly as ever before — most of the time. But when he was by himself, or, at least, by himself with me (and I barely counted as being anybody at all) there was such a sadness about him at times that I could hardly bear it. I always did my tasks for him twice as slowly whenever he wore his darkest expressions, and told him as many stories and jokes as I could think of, and rambled on with my meaningless, childish prattle in efforts to distract him. Half the time it worked; I was thankful to be able to give him even that.

But that evening, quiet though he had been, I knew that Raffles was in good cheer.

I grinned back at him. ‘And we’ll do just that, right Raffles? Show them what the young bloods are made of?’

‘Well, hopefully,’ he laughed. ‘Too much confidence can be as dangerous as too little. I’m well aware of our XI’s weaknesses — and my own! But if we play smart, if we aren’t afraid to take a few risks… Well, we stand as good a chance as anyone at beating the Old Boys; M.C.C.-ers or no!’

‘And I’ll be cheering you on with everything I’ve got! Well, the whole team, obviously,’ I added, ‘but _you_ in particular, Raffles. You’ll have a friend in the stands, win, lose or draw — though I’m sure you’ll smash all comers like you always do.’

‘Are any of your people coming down to watch, Bunny?’ he asked, catching me off guard with his unexpected question. I didn’t _not_ speak about my family to him — there was little I wouldn’t tell Raffles if he’d asked — but the topic never really came up. The worlds of school and home were distinctly separate, at least for me, if not for boys whose brothers and fathers had studied there before them. I was different from many of the other boys in that regard, as in so many others.

‘I— No,’ I replied, stumbling a little over my words. ‘Why would they? I’m not playing.’

‘I suppose not,’ Raffles said, looking me over with a ponderous expression. ‘But aren’t they interested in seeing how you're getting on? Meeting your friends and teachers? You always come back up here by yourself at the start of each term, don’t you? Don't they ever plan on visiting?'

‘Well, my mother and father did bring me when I started, so they have seen the place. And our reports are sent home, so they know how I’m doing,' I said, uncertainly. For some reason discussing my parents made me feel deeply uncomfortable, even with Raffles. Especially with Raffles.

‘They didn’t come up for the school play, either, did they?'

‘No, they didn’t — and I'm jolly glad of it! My father wasn't very happy when he found out I was cast as Juliet. I'd have hated it if they'd watched. I would have refused to go on!'

‘But you were marvellous, Bunny; you stole the show!'

I shook my head and stared at my hands in my lap, but made no further reply, even as I felt Raffles' piercing gaze burning into me.

'Does it bother you that they aren't — more involved?' he asked, carefully.

‘No,' I shrugged, genuinely unsure whether or not I was telling the truth. When my parents took sporadic interest in me it was almost more paralysing than when they ignored me. ‘I understand why they aren't. They’re — busy.’

‘With what? Brothers and sisters?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t have any. But my parents have — other things to do. Important things. Like— well, my father grows peaches, for one, and that’s jolly harder than you’d think in this climate, and it’s the season for it, so he can’t really— And anyway, it’s not as though I’m— that is, there's not a lot for them to be interested in, is there? I'm not— I'm sure if I did better at my studies, or if I were better at sports, or—' I shrugged, desperately wanting this conversation to cease. ‘And they do so much for me. I owe them a lot, really.'

Raffles stared at me for a moment with a strange, almost pained expression on his face, before a bright, warm smile replaced his frown.

‘Well, if they aren't coming, more the better,' he said, reaching over and giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘I won’t have to feel so bad about asking you to come up with me to the pavilion tomorrow, now, will I? I would have felt terribly guilty getting you to hang around with me all day in case I needed your help with anything, if I knew your people would be there.’

‘What!’ I cried, happily. ‘I can come with you to the _pavilion?_ Really? Do you mean it? You never said anything before!'

‘Well, as my fag, I’ll need you to hand, won’t I? What if I suddenly need, I don’t know, some water, a pencil, to send an urgent message to the Queen, who knows what, in mid play? The Captain can’t very well wander off, can he? No good at all for morale! And it’s always best not to distract the chaps from play if it can be helped, by asking _them_ to fetch things for me. So what do you say, Bunny? Up for being my right hand rabbit all day tomorrow?’

‘Of course! You don’t even have to ask!’ I squeaked. ‘Whatever you need, I’m your man.’

‘I knew I could count on you! Though not to be rude, Bunny, but right now what I really need is for all of this chaotic kit to be packed away so that I can get some shut eye before the sun starts coming up again. We do have quite the early start tomorrow and it’s already—’ he glanced at his pocket watch ‘—by Jove, it’s already gone half past nine!’

‘Oh, damn it, I’m sorry,’ I said scrambling back to sorting his cricketing gear. ‘I’m just so excited. Tomorrow’s going to be _brilliant_!’ 

‘That’s all right. I hope it doesn’t disappoint you.’

‘I’m sure it won’t! But even if you lost, I wouldn’t be disappointed in _you_. You couldn’t ever disappoint me,’ I said whilst packing up. ‘...Raffles?’

‘Mm?’

‘Are any of _your_ people coming up tomorrow?’ I wouldn’t have dared ask under other circumstances — and I _hadn’t_ asked up till that moment, much as I’d desperately wanted to — but his own enquiries into _my_ family served as excuse enough for me. He’d raised the topic, after all, not me. That made it fair game. He’d started it. ‘It’s your last Founder’s Day game, after all. I was wondering if they would come to watch you play?’

‘No,’ Raffles said, offering no further elaboration.

‘Oh,’ I replied; and when he pointedly picked up a book and began reading, I didn’t have the pluck to push the question any further. 

I was up early the next morning, partly through excitement and partly because I wanted to make sure that from the moment Raffles was awake I could be ready and waiting for any and all orders he had for me. I was bursting with pride at being asked to hang around the pavillion with him, and though he’d cautioned me not to distract any of the XI by talking to them — unless I was spoken to first, of course — he had also encouraged me to enjoy myself as much as I could, and that he’d let me know if he needed me for anything, so not to worry myself in anticipation. I was to be on stand-by; there in case of emergencies, but otherwise permitted to have fun and soak in the excitement of the day. And that I _certainly_ knew I would, as there was no better view of the field than from the pavillion, and because whenever he wasn’t playing, I’d be able to watch the match from _Raffles’ side._ Suffice it to say I was just about floating on air all morning. 

The cricket itself did nothing to dampen my cheer; the school’s XI under Raffles’ captaincy were playing _brilliantly_. The Old Boys were putting up one hell of a good fight, but with Raffles’ sharp eye and shrewd mind, the school’s XI were managing to pip them at every post. Raffles himself had as marvellous a first innings as ever he had; though of course I’d expected no less of him. They broke for lunch at midday, and Raffles left the pitch sweating, his nose pinked from the hot summer sun, but in as good a mood as I’d seen him in a long while. I was ready with a flask of cold water and a towel for him, earning myself the brightest of smiles and the sincerest of thanks for my small efforts. I didn’t have chance to talk to him about the morning’s play, but I was more than happy to trail behind the team and listen to them discussing their performance; what they had done well, where they had been weak, and how they planned to proceed during the second innings of the afternoon. 

As the XI, with me in tow, made our slow way to the tents where a huge picnic buffet spread had been set out, something in the near distance caught one of the cricket boys’ attention.

‘I say, who’s that girl over there waving at us? She’s a jammie bit of jam; is she from the town? She can’t be; I’d remember a girl like that!’

Raffles shook his head and laughed at his teammate, but once his eyes fell upon the lady walking toward us, his expression immediately changed. ‘Harrie!’ he exclaimed, his emotions visibly and rapidly shifting through astonishment, to confusion, to untempered joy. ‘What the devil are you doing here, old girl?’

‘Thought I’d surprise you,’ the young lady grinned, before sweeping Raffles up in an embrace right there in front of everyone, going so far as to even kiss him on the cheek!

The other boys snickered and jeered, and I tried not to look too upset. My so far excellent day seemed about to take a serious downward turn. Since Raffles and I had become friendlier, my jealousy had for the most part receded. Kit was no longer in the equation, and I knew full well that whilst Raffles had many friends, he didn’t truly _care_ about any of them — not, at least, as he had had cared for Kitty — and he didn’t trust any of them like he trusted _me._ And none of his cricket friends with whom he spent most of his time cared very much at all for poetry or art, and _I did_ , which in my mind at least gave me leverage over them. Whilst I felt deeply guilty for being selfishly glad for that, it didn’t change the fact that I was.

But now there was this _girl_ showing up, making Raffles all but glow with such affection that it tied my heart into knots, being so scandalously bold as to hug him and kiss his cheek right there in front of everyone — and Raffles didn’t even seem to mind! He seemed _glad_ ! Raffles had never given any indication he was spoony on any girl; but then, there were a great many things that Raffles did not mention, not to me or to anyone else. It was entirely feasible that he had some _girl_ somewhere. Perhaps he was even engaged to her. Perhaps that was where he snuck out to all of those nights — and I had helped him! And on top of all that, to rub even _more_ salt into the wound, this woman apparently had the same name as me! It was too much.

‘It certainly is a surprise,’ Raffles beamed, completely heedless in that moment of anyone other than the raven-haired woman. ‘And a perfectly delicious one, at that, if baffling. I thought I told you not to bother yourself, Harrie — it’s such a trek out here! You really oughtn’t to have come, old thing, you’ve more than enough to be getting on with back home!’

‘And miss your last school match? Not on your life! Nothing’s more important than that, Arthur. And I’m glad I did come; you lads are doing a ripping good job out there,’ she said, casting a glittering smile over the rest of us, causing several of the other boys to blush. ‘You’re trouncing that other lot!’

‘What would you know about it?’ Raffles laughed. ‘Harrie, you don’t know a bat from a wicket!’

‘No, but the gentleman who was beside me in the stands seems to, and _he_ said you are all absolute tops; who am I to question a gentleman?’

‘I say, Raffles, old chap, are you going to introduce us to your lady friend, or what?’ said an Upper Sixth named Simkins, with an impertinent grin.

‘Lady—? Oh!’ Raffles frowned, confused, for a moment, and then at last appeared to realise what everyone else had assumed. He shook his head in impatient irritation. ‘For goodness’ sake, lads, it’s nothing like that — this is my sister, Harriet!’

A chorus of “oh”’s bounded around the party before everyone clamoured to introduce themselves to the handsome Raffles’ pretty sister. For my part, not only was I relieved that this hitherto mysterious lady was _not_ a would-be paramour, but I was also terribly excited over the prospect of finally and actually meeting a member of Raffles’ family! I’d been so curious about them for so long, and now here was one in the flesh! I can’t deny that from that moment I was quite fascinated by her.

And now that I knew that this woman was Raffles’ sister, I wondered how I could have even for a moment thought otherwise; the familial resemblance was uncanny. She had the same mass of ink-black curls, though hers had a coppery-red undertone as opposed to his more blueish-black, and hers was of course much longer. Her eyes, too, differed from his, being as warm and golden as his were cold and grey; and where he was all sharp edges over a soft heart, she was all surface softness over a spirit of tempered steel (though the latter, of course, I only discovered much, much later — but that is a tale for another day). These small differences aside, Arthur and Harriet Raffles were like two peas in a pod. As I watched them together whilst she gracefully accepted a stream of greetings from over eager and silly young men, I spotted in her eye that same sardonic twinkle, and in the corners of her smile that same mischievous quirk that I had so often seen in Raffles himself.

‘And who is this?’ she said after everyone in the company had given his name and expressed just how charmed he was to make the lady’s acquaintance. I realised that she was speaking to me. 

‘Oh!’ Raffles said with a grin. ‘Harrie, this is another Harry — though better known as Bunny in these parts. And Bunny, as you might have gathered, this is my sister, Harriet. Bunny’s my fag, Har, and a top-drawer chap all-round.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ I stammered, cautiously taking her outstretched hand and shaking it.

‘I’m very much pleased to finally meet you, too!’ she said with the same dazzlingly bright smile as Raffles had. ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you.’

‘You have?’

That offhand comment was tantalisingly intriguing, but by that point we had reached the picnic tents and were all soon bustled away by imperious serving staff and butlers into collecting plates and taking such food as we wanted, and then bustled off again to one of many tables according to our assigned places. Raffles had, of course, as Captain of the Eleven, been placed on the large top table with the rest of the XI, the Old Boys, and the teachers. His sister melted away into the rest of the crowds against Raffles’ dying protests, promising she would meet up with him again later. And for my part, I was ushered away to the younger boys' tables where I quickly found my best friend, Dodo, who was desperately eager to hear everything I could tell him about all I’d seen and heard that morning from my privileged pavilion position.

After lunch had ended, I made my way back to meet Raffles, Dodo trailing along with me and all but begging me to sneak him into the pavilion. I very nearly caved, but Raffles and his sister appeared just as I was on the verge of it, and Dodo made himself scarce. Dodo was still Kit Hopkins' fag, and he was as desperately loyal to Kitty as I was to Raffles. Whilst I could quite easily, and quite unfairly in retrospect, vilify Kitty in my own mind and thus feel no compunction over ignoring him, cricket-enthusiast Dodo found himself somewhat more torn, as in spite of everything he still held Raffles in the highest professional esteem. And Dodo didn’t know the true extent of what had gone on between the older boys, not like I did; all he saw was that Kitty and Raffles weren’t speaking anymore, and that whilst Kitty was by all accounts very cut up over it, Raffles appeared as chipper as ever. I knew better, of course, but the Spanish Inquisition couldn’t have torn the truth from me. So, for the sake of our friendship, Dodo and I simply agreed not to let our conflicting loyalties come between us. Still, Dodo preferred not to hang around Raffles if he could avoid it, mostly because part of him still dearly wanted to, and that made him feel like a traitor to Kit (so he had later confessed to me).

‘Hallo, Bunny,’ Raffles said cheerily as he approached, arm in arm with his sister. ‘Did you enjoy your lunch?’

‘Ever so!’ I said, a touch too enthusiastically, for on top of the general excitement of the day, I had eaten rather more sugar than was good for me. ‘I didn’t know there was going to be _ice cream_ for dessert! And strawberry ice cream too, which is clearly the very best of all the flavours!’

‘Well said, that man,’ Harrie nodded seriously, and I couldn’t tell whether or not she was making fun of me. ‘I was rather thrilled over that too — I haven’t had ice cream in ages and ages.’

‘I prefer coffee, myself,’ said Raffles, ‘Right, Harrie, I’m afraid this is about where we will have to part ways. I need to go and get ready for the afternoon’s play; and whilst I might have been able to talk my way into getting you a seat at the top table — had you not wandered off to the gods only know where — I’m _not_ sure anyone, yourself included, would want you in the changing rooms. I can get you a seat down in the lower pavilion though, if you like? You can keep Bunny company!’

‘As charming as that sounds,’ Harrie said, smiling at me, ‘I’m afraid I’ve already promised my afternoon to someone else.’

‘Oh, _have_ you now?’ Raffles smirked. ‘This mysterious cricket commentating gentleman from earlier, hm? Should I mark a date in my calendar, Har?’

‘Shut up. It’s not like that, incorrigible toad. We just got chatting, that’s all. Mr. Featherstonehaugh is going into the _church_ , Arthur, it’s all quite proper. His brother is one of the younger Old Boys playing today; Stanley, I think he said the lad’s name is? You might know him, I don’t think he was before your time. Well, in any case, the lad up at Cambridge now, playing cricket for them. So’s my new friend, though not as an undergraduate; he’s just about to start postgraduate studies in philosophy and theology. He’s awfully clever, you know, you’d like him. Jolly keen on Plato.’

‘You _have_ had a busy morning, Harrie — I can see you’ve been paying great attention to the cricket!’

‘Shut up.’

‘I’m only teasing. You’ll have to introduce us, later.’

‘And have you tell him all sorts about me? — Not likely!’

‘Me? You wound me, Harriet!’

‘Get off with you,’ Raffles’ sister laughed, shoving him through the door to the pavilion before turning to me. ‘Bunny, take him in hand, won’t you? I’m putting you in charge of my beastly little brother; every time he’s an ass, I give you permission to twist his wrists on my behalf. If he’s exceptionally ass-like, pinch his ear. He hates that,’ she added with playful smirk, biting her tongue between her teeth and winking at me as though she and I were life-long co-conspirators.

I glanced nervously between the siblings, unsure of how I was supposed to reply to that without offending one or the other of them. ‘Um…’

‘Oh, leave off, Harrie,’ said Raffles. ‘I’m fair game enough, but leave poor Bunny out of it. I have to put up with you by virtue of blood; he doesn’t! Don’t pay her any attention, Bunny; she’s an inveterate nuisance who thrives on being annoying.’ 

‘Yes, don’t pay me any mind at all, Bunny,’ Harrie grinned at me. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters? No? Ah, well, you see, it’s practically a _higher law_ that older siblings must keep their little brothers in check by means of teasing; it is a responsibility I take very seriously. You’d never believe me a quite grown up young lady of twenty-three, but I assure you, back home I’m really awfully respectable. Now, you both really had better get off to get ready. I don’t fancy earning the ire of the entire school by making the Captain late for the game — Oh, blast!’

This exclamation came courtesy of the fact that as the lady had turned with a breezy air to walk away, her skirt had caught on an errant nail sticking out of the pavilion doorway. It had torn a substantial hole in the upper layer of the fabric.

As Harriet fretted over her skirts, Raffles pulled an immature face and giggled without restraint. I’d never seen him behaving so childishly as he was around his sister. It quite fascinated me.

‘It’s not funny,’ she snapped at him. ‘This is _new_ . Well, new-ish. In any case, it’s the newest one I have, and I _like_ this dress! What am I supposed to do now? I can’t go about like this! Look, it’s ripped clean through! What am I supposed to do!’

‘Claim it’s the latest fashion in Paris?’ Raffles quipped heartlessly, eliciting a rather feral growl from his older sibling. 

I, unlike he, even then had a much better appreciation of ladies’ clothing, and so I felt Harriet’s distress at her ripped dress along with her. It really was a very nice dress, if simple, and it suited her beautifully. To have it torn in such a needless accident and in such a visible place really was a serious inconvenience; and as she had said, she couldn’t possibly be seen anywhere with her attire in such a state. Luckily I had a little more than only empathy to offer.

‘Um,’ I piped up, catching her desperate eye, ‘I have a— a sewing kit. It’s down in my study, but I can go fetch, it if you like? Then we can fix it, at least enough to get you through the rest of the day.’

‘Oh, you little _angel!_ ’ Harrie cried, catching both my hands in hers and squeezing them gratefully. I was worried she was on the verge of pinching my cheeks. ‘Do you mind, darling? It’d be awfully good of you? Aren’t you a sweet little thing!’

‘What? Now wait just a minute, Harrie! You can’t just _steal_ Bunny from me — what if I need him?’

‘You don’t own him, so I can’t steal him. I thought I told you _not_ to be an ass; you can’t tell him what to do.’

‘He’s my fag! That’s the very definition of the duty!’

‘Arthur J. Raffles!’

‘Don’t look at me like that. You’re a girl, you don’t understand.’

‘Excuse me? Do you want to rephrase that?’

‘Oh, save your indignation; I just mean that you haven’t been to public school, you don’t understand how things work, how could you? Now, as much as I would love to stay and argue with you, I really do need to go get ready for the afternoon’s play. And I need Bunny _with me_.’

‘Since when did you become incapable of dressing yourself? I thought you’d covered that in you last year’s lessons...’

‘Um, Raffles?’ I squeaked, interrupting their childish bickering, both of them turning to look at me with some surprise. It almost seemed as though they’d forgotten I was there at all, in spite of the fact that it was me they were arguing over! ‘What if I help you get ready, and _then_ go fetch the sewing kit for your sister afterwards?’

‘But then you’ll miss the opening of the afternoon’s play,’ Raffles complained. ‘You’re my good luck charm, Bunny, I can’t do without you!’

My little heart just about burst upon hearing that. Keen as I might have been for Raffles’ sister to like me, in that moment I’d have gladly poured a bottle of water over her head if Raffles had asked me to. ‘...Your good luck charm?’

‘Arthur, I know you’re under a lot of pressure with this cricket stuff,’ Harrie cut in, ‘but really you ought to behave better than this, you know. It is extremely sweet of Bunny to offer to help me. You’re a very thoughtful young man, Mr Manders, and I appreciate that, even if my brother doesn’t. Thank you.’

Raffles grimaced, groaned, sighed, and then shrugged. ‘Oh, go on, Bunny, if you like. Harrie’s right; of course I’m capable of getting myself ready and carrying my own bags. I’m sorry, my dear chap. I should hate to be so unsporting as to allow a minor inconvenience to myself to stop _you_ from being such a chivalrous rabbit in coming to the aid of a lady. Even if that lady’s Harrie,’ he added, shooting a grin at his sister, the warmth of which belied the insincerity of the bitterness in their bickering. ‘She’s right, it is good of you, Bunny, and I appreciate the gesture every bit as much as she does.’

‘Are you sure you don’t mind, Raffles?’ I checked.

‘No,’ he smiled at me. ‘Not at all.’

‘I’ll be back before play starts,’ I said, already beginning to jog away in the direction of our House. ‘I promise!’

‘All right,’ Raffles said, shaking his head. And with that, I chased off back to my study as quickly as I could.

When I returned, red faced and out of breath, but with my little sewing kit firmly in hand, I found Harrie sitting on the grass beneath a tree near to the pavilion, idly weaving strands of grass together. She looked up at me as I approached, smiling when I anxiously asked whether I’d missed the start of play.

‘No, don’t worry,’ she answered me. ‘They haven’t come out yet. You were jolly hot on your feet fetching that! I thought it was a bit of a trek from here back to your main building?’

‘It is a bit,’ I panted. 

‘Aren’t you a darling thing?’ she said as I handed her my sewing kit. ‘Thanks ever so. It’s very sweet of you to go out of your way for me.’

‘It’s nothing,’ I blushed. ‘...Will you be able to fix it yourself, or do you need me to stay and help? I’m good at sewing, even though I’m a boy.’

‘Believe it or not, I’m not _entirely_ hopeless, whatever appearances might suggest!’ she laughed. ‘And I’m more than capable of sewing up a little tear in a skirt! I suppose I should be flattered you think I’m such an upper-class sort as to never have touched a needle other than to embroider fire-place screens.’

‘No, I didn’t mean—’

‘I know you didn’t,’ she smiled. ‘I’m just teasing. I have a terrible habit of that; you mustn’t take it personally, other than as an indication that I like you. I only tease people I like. And thank you for thinking to ask if I needed help with it. You’re a very considerate boy, Bunny Manders.’

‘Oh,' I said, for want of knowing what else to say. ‘Thank you.’ I dropped my gaze to the grass at my feet and twisted a loose thread on my shirt sleeve. I wanted to ask Harriet about her family; I might not get another opportunity to be alone with her, and I wouldn’t dare ask it in front of Raffles. Right then was the perfect opportunity, and yet I couldn’t quite muster up the courage to say something. I chewed my lip.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Harrie said, smiling at me with all of the gentleness I could have wanted in a sister of my own.

‘It’s nothing, it’s just— Well. Well, I was only wondering, you see, Raffles never really talks about his family, and…’

‘Yes?’

I looked at Harriet Raffles properly, then, taking in her intelligent, open expression, her eyes which spoke to compassion and to courage, her dress which, though well-chosen and perfectly suited to her, was neither expensive nor fashionable. I considered the fact that Raffles' sister had turned up here without their parents, and, more significantly, that Raffles hadn’t questioned their absence, or even considered it for a moment; that neither of them had so much as mentioned any other family, not even to ask or tell how they were. And suddenly I realised that I neither wanted nor needed to know anything about Raffles that he wasn’t willing to tell me himself. It was enough that he’d been happy for me to meet Harriet. It was enough that he was my friend at all.

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘You’re a nice kid, Bunny,’ Harriet said, looking at me then with an eye every bit as clear as Raffles’ own. ‘You’ve got a good heart. I’m glad Arthur’s had you as a friend, this year.’

‘Me too,’ I smiled, hoping that I didn’t blush. ‘But, if it’s not too impolite—’ I hesitated, glancing toward the pavilion. I didn’t want to appear rude or in any way snub Raffles’ charming sister, but also _dearly_ wanted to catch Raffles before he went back out to play. I’d do anything rather than disappoint him.

‘Oh! Of course! Go on, run along!’ Harrie said with a sparkling laugh. ‘You haven’t missed them yet. I’m sure you’ll have time to wish my dear little brother luck if you’re quick, and it’ll mean the world to him if you do. I know he doesn’t always show it, but he really is the softest of puppy-dogs underneath. ...Don’t tell him I said that.’

‘I won’t,’ I giggled. ‘Raffles does look a bit like a puppy, doesn’t he?’

‘It’s that hair,’ Harrie sighed. ‘I keep telling him to get it cut _properly_ , but will he listen? Does he ever? Right, now go on and get off with you, little Bunny Manders! Go and be Arthur’s lucky rabbit’s paw, or whatever it was he called you; I’ll hear no end of it if I keep you longer than I needed, much as I’d like to, you dear little thing. I’ll see you both later.’

With my heart full to bursting I took my leave of Raffles’ sister and raced off to find the boy himself before he went out to step up to the crease. He might not mark his own parents’ absence any more than I marked mine; but if I wasn’t there, Raffles would mark that. If I wasn’t there, Raffles _would miss me_. 

I was his good luck charm, after all.


End file.
